Happily Forsworn
by Elpin
Summary: Ten years have passed since Draco Malfoy took the Dark Mark. As he and several other Death Eaters start to feel it, they realise that for some unknown reason, it has awoken. Slash Harry/Draco
1. The Reawakening

**Title**: _**Happily Forsworn**_

**Author**: **elpin**

**Pairing**: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

**Rating**: Mature, no warnings

**Summary**: Ten years have passed since Draco Malfoy took the Dark Mark. As he and several other Death Eaters start to feel it, they realise that for some unknown reason, it has awoken.

**Notes**: For **alafaye**, because I failed to fulfill her prompt. This was the closest I could get- which isn't really close at all. It's been a while since I wrote H/D. Apologies, hope this makes up for it - it'll be longer than a oneshot at least :)

**Notes/warnings on story**: It has been really long since I wrote HP, so my style might have changed. Be warned for a child character, shameless sympathy for Draco, and little regard for canon.

**Extra note**: The title is in reference to Shakespeare's sonnet # 66, which includes the line "And purest faith unhappily forsworn." Take what interpretations you will from it.

Chapter One: The Reawakening

'Another one?' Hermione asked as one of her medi-witches helped an elderly wizard down the corridor to one of the empty rooms. She frowned at the man, whose gaze was fixed on the floor, left hand clutching his right arm in pain. 'What's your name?' It frightened her that there were so few she recognised. Even after the round-up was declared finished, there were still so many unaccounted for.

'Gansum, Ma'am, Aurelius,' the man mumbled. He didn't seem the right sort, but then fewer and fewer did these days. People moved on, or served their time, or had not really been guilty in the first place.

'Give him a pain potion and take a sample,' she told the medi-witch as she wrote down his name on her scroll. She let go of it, letting it roll up magically and stuff itself into her robe pocket. She put her pen - she had stopped using quills during her first year at St. Mungo's - into her breast pocket.  
She walked down the hallway, noting with distress how full the ward was getting. Ten years had passed since the height of Voldemort's power. About a year ago the first case had been identified in Azkaban. The guards had been reluctant to release their prisoner, but the nature of the affliction was of great concern.

The Dark Mark was painful. It had begun with a dull throbbing, and grown steadily in intensity until it was like Voldemort was holding down on a button connected to the Mark. They had been at a total loss since it was clear the Mark was not calling the follower anywhere. Voldemort was dead. Harry had never been in doubt of that, thank Merlin. But no one else was using it either. It was as if it had come alive on its own.

One month later and the man had died. He had been in great pain, then the Mark had glowed green, and he had simply died.

By that time, three more prisoners had started feeling the same. They all lived one month.

The Ministry wasn't too concerned, as usual, with Death Eater prisoners. But Hermione had been terrified of the implications. She knew, as all those who had been in the thick of things at the time, that not all of Voldemort's followers deserved punishment of any sort. The Ministry itself had granted more pardons than sentences, if they cared to remember. Thankfully, Harry had pressured them into letting him use Auror resources to track down those pardoned, and find those with painful Marks.

The most bizarre thing about it was that the affliction seemed to pick them out at random. Hermione was working day and night with samples from all of them, but Voldemort's magic had never been easy to unravel, even for someone like Dumbledore. She had specialized in healing magic after the war, as a way to deal with all the death. Most Dark Arts experts she tried to consult with were less that interested in researching a cure for dying Death Eaters. Even in the free society they had fought to create, prejudices lingered. Sometimes it made her so angry she wanted to scream and curse.  
She stopped by the door to a young man, no older than herself. The child of a Death Eater, forced to take the Mark when barely a man. A Durmstang student, if she remembered correctly. Acquitted after the war with no objections, yet no one seem to want to help him now.

'Healer Weasley?'

She spun to address the medi-witch, who was holding the hand of a small boy. He was a cute little thing, with platinum blond hair combed back neatly. He wore muggle clothes, brown corduroy trousers, matching shiny shoes, a button-down blue shirt and a yellow raincoat. He was barely ten, and seemed shy yet determined.

'Who is this?' she asked.

'He says his name is,' the medi-witch's voice dropped, 'Scorpius Malfoy.' Hermione's eyes widened to saucers as she looked down at the boy. He ducked his head.

Draco Malfoy had a son? A son who was almost ten? It didn't make sense. Who, not to mention when? Those questions were pushed to the side when Hermione realised what his presence meant.  
'Malfoy is-?'

The medi-witch nodded. She looked down at the boy and prompted him to tell Hermione what he had told her. He took a deep breath and looked up.

'Please, Ma'am, my father is sick. I know it's magical cause he keeps touching his mark.' The boy pointed at his right forearm. 'He won't come to the hospital. He doesn't know I'm here.'

'How did you get here?' Hermione asked. A boy so young should not be floo'ing alone- then again, she didn't think Malfoy had a floo these days.

'The train, Ma'am,' the boy said. 'And the bus, then I walked the last bit.'

'The bus… the muggle bus?' The boy nodded.

Hermione had not felt so floored in a long time. She knew, of course, that Malfoy had not been acquitted after the war. This was not due to any action on his part, but his father's crimes. It was simply the Ministry unwilling to let a Malfoy go. Harry had been livid when they had announced Draco would be among those chosen for the alternative punishment. A ban on magic for the rest of his life. His wand was broken, and he was forbidden to use magical artefacts or even transportation. At least they hadn't taken his fortune, Hermione had thought at the time. He could live his life out comfortably at Malfoy Manor. But he had surprised them by levelling the whole place to rubble and selling the land. No one had seen or heard from him in over eight years.

Hermione kneeled in front of the boy so she could look at him levelly.

'How long has he been in pain, do you know?'

'At least a week,' the boy said. 'He takes, um, pain medicine, but it doesn't work for very long.'

'Do you know your address?'

'Of course,' the boy seemed offended that he didn't know, and that tiny moment when he raised his chin slightly proved without a doubt he was Draco's son. Hermione smiled.

'Good. My name is Hermione Weasley. I went to school with your father.'

'You went to Hogwarts?' the boy's eyes widened.

'Yes, indeed. I need you to take my hand. We're going to get a friend of mine, and then we are going to help you father, all right?' He took the proffered hand without hesitation, and Hermione gave the medi-witch a few instructions for the ward. They went upstairs to the lobby and floo'd directly to the Ministry Atrium.

Visitors weren't suppose to be able to just waltz into the Auror Department, but Hermione was friend and wife to the two top Aurors, and regularly had tea with the Head Auror. They waved her past the moment she said it was an emergency.

Harry was with several Aurors, including Ron, in his office. Both of them jumped up when Hermione knocked and entered without waiting.

'Hermione, what-' Ron spotted the boy. 'Who's this?'

'I'll introduce you, once we're alone.' Harry quickly cleared the room. Through all this, Scorpius simply observed his surroundings, seeming quite awed for the child of a wizard. The realisation made Hermione sad.

'This is Scorpius Malfoy,' she introduced, gratified that the two were just as shocked, but also not suspicious. They both greeted the boy the same as they would any ten-year-old.

'Oh, Merlin,' Harry made the connection first. 'Is Draco?'

'Yes, I think we should all go see him. According to Scorpius, he might not want to come to St. Mungo's.'

'Hardly surprising, considering,' Ron muttered.

Scorpius told them the address, and they all quickly headed for the Atrium.

'Are we going to Apparate?' Scorpius asked.

'Yes, have you done that before?' Hermione asked.

'No, best to take a breath in, right?'

'That's right.' Scorpius beamed and took a big breath. Hermione popped them away.

They arrived on a very charming little street somewhere not far from Canterbury. The lane was flanked by well-trimmed hedges and despite the rain, it was very pretty. The houses were semi-detached and made of brick. Two stories and fairly narrow. It was very muggle middle-class, though Hermione would deny thinking like that.

'It's this one,' Scorpius said, leading Hermione by the hand. They went through a small gate and up to a blue door. Scorpius took out a key and unlooked it. Inside was a small entrance hall with stone tiles and a shoe rack. Scorpius immediately hung up his wet raincoat in what looked like his "spot", putting away his shoes underneath in a small cubby. He gestured quickly with his hand for them to follow as he hurried silently down the hallway.

'Father?' he called softly. They passed the kitchen. It was small, but well-maintained. Hermione almost did a double take at the sight of all the muggle appliances, but reminded herself of why they were here.

They reached what had to be the sitting room. There was a door with glass panels, set ajar. Scorpius stuck his head in. 'Father?' He went inside.

Hermione followed first.

The sitting room was almost disturbingly normal. A big flatscreen television stood against the wall, beside a large cabinet full of frozen pictures and knick-knacks. The far wall was a large window with a door out to the back garden. There was a desk in one corner with a computer of all things. In the middle of the room, facing the television, was squashed sideways a large comfortable sofa. On it lay Draco Malfoy, his right arm hanging limply to his side. A small side-table held several bottles. Potion bottles. Medicine indeed. Hermione was relieved to be honest. An utterly muggle-dwelling Draco Malfoy would have been too much.

'Father?' the boy was nudging his Dad- Draco Malfoy was a dad, Hermione just fully realised. They couldn't see anything except his arm from where they stood behind the sofa. Scorpius' face was becoming increasingly sad and guilty.

'Scorpius?' Draco's voice sounded so old! Well, no older than theirs, she was certain, but there was just something strange hearing that usually high-pitched whine sound so manly, almost.

'I'm really sorry, Father,' Scorpius said. 'But I had to bring someone. You're in so much pain, and I- I'm so afraid. I went to St. Mungo's. I found someone to help you. Please, I'm sorry.' He was close to tears, and Hermione almost spoke up to tell him it was all right, and if Draco said anything to the contrary she would punch him again.

'Shhh, it's fine, come on, crook,' Draco mumbled. Scorpius immediately climbed up on the sofa and lay down on Draco's left side, squishing himself in between his father and the back of the sofa. Hermione slowly rounded the side of it. Scorpius was laying with his head on Draco's chest, and Draco stroked his hair with his good arm. 'It's OK,' he whispered. 'Just don't run off into the city ever, ever, ever again, all right?'

'I promise,' Scorpius said.

Draco looked horrible. He was pale and shaking ever-so-slightly, probably due to too many pain potions. Hermione tried to see past the sickness and saw a man grown into himself. He was almost broad, but still slim enough to be closer to Harry than Ron in shape. He wore dark slacks and a white button down, the sleeve rolled up to reveal an angry Dark Mark.

'Malfoy,' she said as softly as she could. He slowly raised his gaze to them. 'Scorpius was concerned about you.'

'And you came?'

'Of course we did,' she told him a bit sternly. 'Malfoy, how long has this been going on?'

'A week,' he said. 'It was just a tingling at first, but now it's like a headache that never goes away. The worst headache I've ever had.'

'You need to come with us to St. Mungo's.'

'No, thank you.'

'You aren't the only one affected.' This was a surprise to Draco, who frowned down at his Mark.

'And you don't know how to fix it?'

'Not yet.'

'Then I reiterate, no thank you.'

'Malfoy, we'll drag you there if we have to,' Ron said.

'Ronald, honestly,' Hermione said.

'He's right, we will,' Harry said quietly.

'Look, your son is worried. I'm sure he would feel much better if you were in our care. You're going to run out of pain potions eventually, and you aren't in a fit state to brew more.'

'Going to turn me in, Granger?'

'It's Weasley these days, and of course not. Now stop being silly. Do you need help getting up?'

'No,' Draco sighed. 'Just give me a moment. Scorpius, would you run upstairs and fetch… some things.'

'I'll pack a bag,' Scorpius said, gently climbing over his father and hurrying upstairs at a speed known only to ten-year-olds.

'Tell me honestly,' Draco said. 'The others, how long?'

'A month,' Hermione admitted.

'Great.'

'We're doing everything we can,' she lied.

'Of course.'

'I have to ask,' Ron said suddenly. 'Who is his mother?'

'None of your business, Weasley,' Draco grumbled, but with only half of the usual strength.  
'No, it's not,' Harry said. 'But we do need to know if the worst happens.'

'I'm afraid it won't help. She's gone, and she made it clear she never wanted to see or hear from either of us again.'

'How could a mother do that?' Hermione asked.

'A mother, perhaps not, a teenager? I don't blame her. She left him on my doorstep when he was two, with a note that said she was off to see the world and never coming back.'

'Who?' Ron asked.

'Doesn't matter.'

Scorpius came running back with a small overnight bag with some sort of sports logo on it.

'I should call Mr. Keller and tell him we'll be gone.'

'Give me the phone,' Draco said.

'No, I'll do it.' Scorpius went to the television table and picked up a cordless phone. He quickly dialled the number.

'Who is Mr. Keller?' Hermione asked.

'Neighbour,' Draco said. 'He feeds the cat whenever we're gone. Gets the mail.'

'Oh.' The level of surreality just kept rising. Draco made it seem like they went away, like a family, on a holiday or something. She was quickly realising she was full of preconceptions about Draco's life after the war. She had been picturing bitterness and illegal wands, but instead he had, in a word, adapted. Draco Malfoy had adapted to the muggle world.

'Hello, Mr. Keller, it's Scorpius. Father needs to go to the hospital for a bit. No, there's a- a nurse here to help us. It's nothing serious. Yes, could you? Thank you, Mr. Keller, I'll call as soon as we're back.' Scorpius hung up and smiled at them. 'We can go now.'

Draco sat up at that and slowly rose to his feet. He was weak, and Hermione could tell Ron wanted to take him by the arm.

'End of the garden is unwarded. Best to leave unseen.'

They slowly escorted Draco to the edge of a well trimmed garden, complete with tiny duck pond. Scorpius took Hermione's hand again, the bag in the other, and Harry took a gentle hold of Draco's left arm. 'Are you ready?'

'You don't-' Ron coughed. 'You don't have a wand on you? Because someone at-'

'No, I haven't used a wand since they broke mine.' Finally, a little bitterness, but not nearly as much as Hermione had expected. The comment was far more subdued than that. Scorpius did not seem at all surprised by the comment.

They apparated to St. Mungo's. Hermione and Scorpius led the way. A medi-witch greeted them in the Death Eater ward.

'Is that him?' she asked.

'Yes, register him in room 3421,' she said. 'This way,' she told the others.

Scorpius hovered uncertainly while they helped Draco into bed. He refused to take off his clothes, so that would have to wait. Once settled, Scorpius set the bag down and sat on the chair provided for visitors. He looked more worried than ever before. Seeing his father in an actual hospital bed must have made it all the more serious.

'Crook,' Draco said suddenly, and Scorpius sat up straight. 'Left side,' Draco said, and Scorpius hurried round the bed and climbed up, laying down with Draco's left arm around him, head on his father's chest.

'Oh, crook of the arm,' Ron said. 'Just got it.'

'I will be back to do some tests,' Hermione said. 'Do you need any pain potion right now?'

'No, it's tolerable at the moment.'

'Ring the bell if you need anything.'

'Thank you.' The last was mumbled as the three of them left the room. Hermione glanced back as she closed the door. Father and son were almost asleep already.

She sighed as she turned to her husband and friend. Both of them were sporting sad and confused looks.

'I thought when they sentenced him to no magic, he would either wither away or stupidly defy them until they threw him in Azkaban,' Harry admitted.

'I thought he'd just move to France or something,' Ron said.

'I think we always underestimated his strength,' Hermione said.

'I can't believe Malfoy's a dad,' Ron said. 'And a good one.'

'Just do the exact opposite of Lucius Malfoy,' Harry muttered, 'a recipe for success, that.'

'Let's put all that aside,' Hermione said. 'Focus on the task at hand.'

'Do you have the list of patients?' Harry asked.

'Yes, I have a copy of all, dead and alive,' she fished out the list and gave it to him. Harry scanned the names, his frown growing steadily more grim.

'Karkaroff isn't on here,' he said.

'No, he's still in Azkaban, but he is dying of old age and poor conditions,' the last bit was said reproachfully, though the Ministry would never bother to hear it.

'And no Nott senior,' he said. 'Or Goyle… or Crabbe.'

'None of the father's of Death Eaters?' Ron asked.

'No, there are others here with sons. Both Kopytoffs, for example.'

'Well, it's no discerner of age,' Ron said.

'Right, Shanche was eighty when he died,' Hermione said.

'But when did he join?' Harry asked. 'He wasn't with the original Death Eaters. He joined after Voldemort's second coming. I remember his trial.'

'You think it's affecting everyone who took the Mark the second time?'

'It would explain why Lucius Malfoy isn't on this list.'

'It's the only thing that connects them all.'

'Are you sure?' Ron asked, scrutinizing the list in Harry's hand. 'What about Jasinski?'

'I don't remember.'

'But it's worth checking,' Hermione said, feeling like they might finally be getting somewhere. 'You take the list and double check every name. I'll start on Draco's tests.' They all went into their new tasks with slightly renewed optimism.

TBC...


	2. The Records

Chapter Two: The Records

Harry was halfway down the hallway of St. Mungo's when he paused. Ron noticed three steps later and turned.

'What's the matter?'

'We should ask Draco first.'

'He's not in a fit state,' Ron argued. 'Let's get this theory on solid ground first.'

'I'll just be a moment. You go on ahead.'

Ron sighed and trudged along, while Harry hurried back, glad Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He entered Draco's room, his heart clenching at the scene. Draco had never been sweet, not in Harry's world. Even at his most pathetic, he had garnered more pity than sympathy. Harry had argued on his behalf during the trial, but that was down to duty. He hated the idea that Draco would be sent to Azkaban for Lucius' decisions.

Sins of the father, and all that.

Ron was right, though, they had all thought he'd run off to France or Italy at the first opportunity. Maybe marry a pureblood that wasn't too up on current events in Britain.

There was a distinct feeling of guilt welling up inside him, Harry realised as he stared at the pair, one the miniature of the other. He did not like to think of himself as holding prejudices anymore.

'Did you want something?' Draco's voice sounded on the brink of sleep and Harry winced at having to bother him.

'Sorry, yes,' he said, approaching the bed, keeping his voice low. 'I need you to look at this list. Tell me if anyone you know might be missing.'

'I don't know all Death Eaters,' Draco said as he took the list with his right hand, the Mark blinking with a strange shine to it.

'Just anyone you might have taken the Mark with.'

Draco frowned as he scanned the list. Scorpius's head rose and fell with his father's chest. Harry knew he wasn't asleep, though.

'Nott isn't on here,' he said at last.

'We know,' Harry said. 'He's still in Azkaban. Hasn't shown symptoms.'

'No, I mean Theo Nott.'

'Theodor Nott died in the war,' Harry said slowly, wondering if the pain was affecting Draco's mind.

'No, he didn't,' Draco sighed. 'He faked his own death. Escaped. I swore I wouldn't tell a soul.'

'You-' Harry was stumped. Theodor Nott alive. His mind spun with the implication that more could have done the same. Some of them might be real Death Eaters. 'Do you know where he might be now?'

'I didn't keep in touch,' Draco said, exasperated. 'I suspect he went to Ukraine or Romania. I know his family had assets in both countries. They used to summer near Kiev.'

'Right, I'll look into it.'

'You think his Mark is active as well?' Draco sounded close to falling asleep, and Harry was starting to feel really confused about just how bad he felt for disturbing him.

'I have a theory.'

'Will wonders never cease?' Draco's eyes were fluttering close as he spoke. He looked very vulnerable. More so than at his worst after the war. Something about that small blond head on his chest, and a small hand clutching at his shirt. Draco couldn't die, Harry realised. During the war, he could have. No one would have missed him- not after Narcissa was gone. A horrible thought, but accurate. He did not have that luxury anymore.

'Three years of Auror training did beat some smarts into me,' Harry said.

'Minimal requirement, I imagine,' Draco snorted softly.

'Probably, I never checked the results. Rest now,' Harry said. 'I'll come back when I have some information.' He knew it wasn't his job to keep Draco informed, but for some reason he felt it was owed. He left quietly, walking down the hall in a way that those around him thought brooding and slightly intimidating.

XXX

Going through the list turned out to be a hell of a lot easier said than done. The Ministry had not gotten any better at keeping records organized, and the state of the old records were even worse. Summoning spells were horrible. You were just as likely to get the person's brother's birth certificate or application for adding a wizard space to their shed from 1976.

Some were ticked off immediately. Those Harry had seen during his glimpses into Dumbledore's pensive. But Voldemort's army was always bigger than anyone imagined. Harry doubted even the man himself had an actual account of all his followers. Sorting the old from the new, when age was not always a factor, was proving troublesome.

Take Hemmendorff, for example. Old purebloods, part Swiss and Austrian. He was nonexistent in the Ministry's records, yet he was lying close to death in Hermione's ward. He was over seventy, and incoherent with pain, like most of them. A lot of foreigners had only joined during his second coming, however, so his age was not an indication of the length of his service.

Then there was the fact that they would probably never know exactly how many Marks were active, especially now they knew for certain people like Nott got away without leaving a trace. For all they knew, a dozen old Death Eaters were sitting on Vanuatu drinking pumpkin tonics and overdosing on pain potions. They were working from incomplete data. How could they possibly figure it out within three weeks?

That was the due date, Harry knew. It made determination and despair shoot through him in equal measures. Three weeks they had, and not a day longer.

'I think I found the transcript to Tudderham,' Ron said. They had occupied one of the meeting rooms, towers of papers creating a fortress around them. 'It says he took the Mark at twenty.'

'How old is he now?'

'I don't know, he's marked as dead on the list.'

'Do you remember-'

'I can't remember seeing him once, let along what he looked like.'

'Ask if someone on the team interviewed him. And make sure everyone knows from now on to ask when they took the mark, exactly,' Harry said pointedly. 'I'm making it standard procedure.'

'Right you are, boss,' Ron said good-naturedly, gathering his papers and heading out to find the rest of their four man team. The Ministry was sometimes so incompetent it was impressive, Harry thought. Should it not have been one of the first questions during a trial? "When did you become a Death Eater?" seemed pretty damn important. But none of the trials followed any sort of script. Granted, at the time everyone had wanted to get the whole thing over and done with, and since most Death Eaters had already been on trial for the first war, their actions then weren't "relevant" to the new sentencing. It was like an invisible cut-off date in the records. But summoning trial records only gave you the latest, which meant finding the first trial manually. Or, if they were really lucky, the Death Eater hadn't even gone to trial the first time, like Lucius Malfoy.

Harry slowly lowered his head to the table.

Maybe this theory wasn't worth it. It could be a dead end. They could be wasting their efforts while Draco lay dying. Three weeks wasn't nearly enough time to sort through this lot.

Ron came back.

'Jenkins says Tudderman looked about forty,' he said as he sat down.

'That doesn't make sense,' Harry said. 'He would have been thirty during the height of Voldemort's last recruiting, but not even ten years old at his first defeat.'

'Maybe the pain made him age,' Ron shrugged. 'I'm marking him down as Second War Recruit.'

'But-'

'We have to make some assumptions,' Ron said. 'This is logical.'

'I know, I just want to be sure.'

'We are being as sure as we can be.'

'Right.'

They both went back to their papers for a while. Ron summoned coffee for them. It would be another long night. Jenkins and Gale were out re-interviewing the few who could form sentences.

'This is hopeless,' Harry said, almost ripping the scroll he was currently holding. 'These records don't make sense. I think it's two brothers, twins. Merlin, save me from Ministry fuck ups.'

'Give them here.' Harry handed over all the records.

'Well, one of them certainly had a trial in 1981,' Ron said. 'Which one is in St. Mungo's?'

'I don't know. He's dead, and the other died in the war. There's one death certificate from 1999. Merlin knows who for. Might be they were both always Death Eaters, but only one got caught the first time!'

'We'll put him aside for now,' Ron said. 'Focus on the easier one first.'

'There are no easy ones left.'

'OK, I think we need a break.'

'I can't stop,' Harry said, checking the next name of Hermione's list and beginning to summon what he could. 'We've only got three weeks.

Ron paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, setting it down slowly.

'Mate, the chances of solving this in three weeks...'

'We are going to solve this in three weeks, Ron,' Harry said, unrolling scroll after scroll, and discarding them one by one. Useless Ministry, he thought.

'Of course,' Ron said. He nodded. 'All right, three weeks. I get it.'

'Do you?'

'I know you felt you didn't do right by Malfoy.'

'It's not about that.'

'Is it about the boy?'

'No-' Harry shook his head. 'Maybe.'

'Then let's get to work.' They went back to their scrolls with coffee-provided energy.

XXX

Draco woke up in pain, like he had been doing for the past week. He blearily opened his eyes and took in the dull off-white of the hospital room, the only colour a pale pink on the curtains hung in front of a magical window, showing a grey London in the rain. Scorpius was making his left arm fall asleep, but he wouldn't move him. His warmth was so comforting compared to Draco's exposed right forearm.

He tried to ignore the pain, willing the potion to last just a little bit longer. Eventually he started squirming.

'Should I get the medi-witch?' Scorpius asked, raising his head.

'No-' Draco sighed. 'In a moment.' He squeezed his son close, wishing they could just drift away again. Scorpius clung to him. 'I'm sorry you felt you had to go behind my back.'

'I wouldn't have, but you were sleeping all day.'

'I know. It was stupid of me not to go sooner.'

'You're not mad?'

'I'm horrified you went all the way to London alone,' Draco said. 'Did no one stop you?'

'No. A couple old ladies asked where I was going, but I just said you were meeting me at the next stop.'

'You're too clever for your own good.' He kissed the top of Scorpius's head just as Healer Weasley came in. There was a sight he thought he'd never see, and it wasn't the fact that the mauve healer robes weren't horrible looking on her. Little snotty Granger, all mature and married, and Chief Healer of a St. Mungo's ward. He would have guessed politics, had anyone asked. The image of the know-it-all with a bush for hair was outdated, however, even before Draco went into the muggle world. He had seen all three of them do battle, barely seventeen.

'I thought you might need another pain potion by now,' she said, setting the bottle on the side-table. 'Can you sit up?'

'I'm not quite that infirm yet,' he said, but Scorpius still tried to help him sit up, even fluffing his pillow, which he could admit was needed. She handed him a small cup with a measure of pain potion. Not nearly enough, in his view, but now that he knew what fate lay waiting, he knew they were probably limiting the amount so he didn't develop a resistance.

The throbbing subsided to manageable levels.

'Mind if I do a few tests now?' She asked, wand already at the ready. He nodded, and Scorpius got off the bed so she could do her waving. He only recognised a handful of the spells she used. He tried not to let that bother him. Even if he hadn't lost his wand, he still would never have become a healer.

'Can you tell what's wrong?' Scorpius asked, watching the wand-waving with interest. Another sore spot. He could show the boy brewing and all kinds of books on magic, but he couldn't demonstrate the simplest Wingardium Leviosa for him. He wasn't even the first to Apparate first with him. And he probably wouldn't be the first to see him fly. He would do all that at Hogwarts. Just one year left until Scorpius could enter the world that Draco was barred from.

But he had made peace with that, as best he could.

'I can tell there is something wrong,' Healer Weasley said. 'But we don't understand it yet. But we will figure it out. This sort of magic is... difficult.' Scorpius nodded his understanding.

'It's a vow mark,' he whispered. Weasley gave Draco a sharp look, as if to suggest he should be keeping his son ignorant of something he might see every day. Scorpius was ridiculously clever for his age – well, Draco thought so - but even if he was a dunderhead, Draco would never lie to him. He might not tell it all, but he wasn't going to pretend he just fancied a tattoo of a skull and snake.

'Now,' Weasley said. 'I'll need to take a sample.'

'How will you manage that?' Draco asked.

'If I make a small enough incision at the very edge of the Mark, it won't react. Trust me, I've done this more than I care to count.' She bent over his forearm and pointed her wand at the tip of the snake's tail, whispering an incantation. There was a tiny snip – Draco didn't think he would have felt it if he hadn't been prepared – and a minuscule piece floated into the air. She caught it in a vial and corked it. He didn't even bleed.

'Someone will be along with dinner in a moment,' she said. 'Ask for me if you need anything.'

Draco didn't care to point out that the Chief Healer wasn't suppose to be at the beck and call of a single patient in a full ward. She took the pain potion bottle, said goodbye to Scorpius and left.

As Scorpius climbed back up to find his spot, the only thing going through Draco's mind was a half-exasperated, half-impressed "Gryffindors, honestly..."

'I brought our book,' Scorpius said.

'Do you want to read to me?' At Scorpius nod, Draco directed him to fetch the novel. Scorpius sat on the edge of the bed cross-legged. Draco's mind soon drifted a bit, but Scorpius kept on until he knew his father was asleep.

XXX

The office was almost empty. Ron was rubbing his eyes, knowing Hermione was probably not home either.

'Auror Potter?' Auror Gale stuck his head into the meeting room.

'Unless I'm giving you orders, just call me Harry, or Potter at least,' Harry smiled, eyes tired. Gale nodded nervously. He and Jenkins were right out of Auror training – the only two to volunteer for Harry's taskforce.

'Right, Sir, there's been a firecall from a woman, says her son has been in pain for a week, but that he won't go to St. Mungo's. The name is Ivo Northwode.'

'Same time as Malfoy,' Harry said.

'I know that name,' Ron said, pulling the different lists to him.

'Me too,' Harry said, searching his own papers.

'Wasn't he on trial after the war?' Ron asked.

'Yes, he was summarily acquitted,' Harry suddenly remembered. 'He was the youngest ever to take the Mark.'

'That's right, he was barely fifteen,' Ron recalled. 'Merlin.'

'Let's go get him.'

The young man was reluctant to go, thinking he would only face disgust at the hospital. Harry hated seeing someone so terrified of asking for help. His mother told him she couldn't get him out of the house on most days, he was so ashamed of the war.

At St. Mungo's the medi-witches took good care of him. Hermione had also asked for volunteers for her new ward. It was only the Oath of Healing that had convinced the hospital to set up a separate ward for the Death Eaters.

Harry went straight for Draco's room, while Ron stayed to have a few words with his wife. Draco was sitting up in bed, eating. Scorpius was seated in the chair, using the side-table for his own dinner.

'Malfoy,' Harry greeted. He said hello to Scorpius as well, asking him if he liked the hospital food. Scorpius said it was the first elf-made food he'd ever had. Harry was about to answer him, when Draco stopped him.

'Is there some news you need to tell me?'

'Not news exactly,' Harry said. 'Do you remember a boy named Ivo Northwode?'

'Yes, of course,' Draco said. His eyes grew distant. 'Barely fifteen, and yet we took the Mark together.'

'Wait, together? At the same time?'

'That is what together means, last I checked.'

'How long ago, exactly?'

Draco eyes widened as he realised what Harry was getting at. 'It was on May first, ten years ago.'

'Three weeks from now, oh damn I've been stupid.'

'I'd normally agree with you, but I've been blind as well.'

'What's that mean?' Scorpius asked.

'I don't know,' Harry said. He looked at Draco, knowing he wouldn't want his son to know everything.

'Scorpius could you go outside for a moment. Harry and I need to discuss some things I'd rather you not hear yet.'

'Yes, Father.' Scorpius took his dessert muffin and left. Harry paced the room, thoughts swirling.

'Why didn't I make the connection?'

'It's not as if you had a time table of the Dark Lord's initiation schedule.' Harry gave Draco an odd look at the way he almost defended him, but brushed it aside.

'The Mark is killing people exactly ten years after they took the vow.'

'Then Nott will already be dead,' Draco said suddenly. 'He took it two months before me.'

'I'm sorry.'

Draco shook his head, eyes closed.

'I need to go, I need to tell the others.'

'Of course.'

'We'll get to the bottom up this before-'

'Three weeks isn't enough.'

'It'll have to be.'

'I know you always win, Potter,' Draco said, smiling almost ruefully. 'But I won't blame you if you fail this time.'

'Don't talk like that. You'd blame me for the weather if you wanted to.'

'I think I did, once or twice, at school.'

Harry shook his head, heading for the door.

'If you don't-'

'No talking like that,' Harry cut him off, pointing his Auror finger at him. 'There is time.' With that he let Scorpius back in the room and ran off to find Ron and Hermione.

XXX

They were in Hermione's office, cold tea in front each other them. They were each reading a scroll. Hermione was studying the latest tests. Harry was frowning at the patient list, and Ron was reading Gale's latest interviews.

'It fits,' Ron said eventually. The others looked up. 'Most of the second wave recruits would have taken the Mark ten years ago to the date.'

'We don't have anyone's exact date confirmed except Draco and Northwode,' Hermione pointed out.

'Come on, you know this fits.'

'But all our tests are inconclusive. What do we do with this information? Or theory, rather.'

'We keep at it,' Harry said. 'The first thing to do is confirm with the others.'

'Others?'

'The older Death Eaters. If they experienced this after ten years, I would guess somewhere between 1988 and 1991, then one of them might know what this is.'

'And if they didn't?' Ron asked.

'Then we will know he changed the spell.' Harry got up.

'Harry, you have to go home and sleep,' Hermione used her mother voice.

'No, I can check a few more names-'

'Being dead on your feet won't help anyone.'

'Come on, I'm escorting you home,' Ron said. 'I'll see you at home,' he told Hermione, leaning over the desk to give her a peck on the cheek.

'Yes, Sir,' Harry said, but it was without humour. 'I'm heading straight to Hogwarts first thing.'

'Oh, please, no, I think I'd rather go to Azkadan,' Ron groaned.

'Then that can be your job,' Harry said, walking out of the office. 'Home it is.' Hermione smirked at Ron's betrayed look, but he followed without argument.

XXX

Harry met with McGonagall the next morning, and explained the situation. She was appalled and immediately asked Severus' portrait if he knew anything about it. Harry kept his eyes slightly averted, as there was still a part of him who couldn't look the man in the eye, not after his last moments.

'I am afraid I do not have all the information my physical counterpart was privy to, but I can tell you the Mark never came alive except when He called.'

'What else, Severus?' McGonagall asked. 'I know there's more, I can tell.'

'Lack of fine brush strokes,' Severus grumbled. 'But yes, there were changes made to the Vow. I do not know them, however. Voldemort always initiated his followers without witnesses.'

'But you must have done research on the first Vow?' Harry asked. It occurred to him they had been so caught up in their own research and tests, they hadn't considered Severus might have done something similar decades ago. Maybe the answer lay in some sort of change. He would need Draco to describe the Vow in detail. Harry felt hopeful for the first time since the whole thing started.

Severus gave a half-sneer at him, but kept his focus on McGonagall, probably to keep his temper in check.

'Of course.'

'Do you have his notes, Headmistress?'

'Yes, they were all put in storage here at the school,' she said, going over to her desk. Although the office did not hold quite as many odd artefacts as when Dumbledore occupied it, the room still held the same warmth, certain portraits notwithstanding.

She returned with a big brass key. 'They are all in his old office.'

'You never cleared it?'

'I reasoned few teachers would want- well, you know what people think.' They thought all wrong, Harry almost spat, but kept quiet.

'I'm not going to be able to find anything down there, am I?' Harry asked, directing his question at both of them. Severus crossed his arms.

'My filing system is impeccable, first closet on the left.'

'I'll arrange for some tea,' McGonagall offered. Harry thanked her and started the long trek down to the dungeons.

The halls were silent, it being too early even for breakfast. It was always bittersweet coming back to Hogwarts. The place where he had found his first home, but also where he had fought his first battle, lost his first friend, and killed his first enemy.

The door to Severus' office was covered in a membrane of dust and cobwebs, as if the castle had tried to swallow it. Like a corner of a house best left forgotten. Harry unlocked it and used his wand to clear a way as you would through a jungle.

It looked like a hundred years had passed.

He ignored the potion shelves and desk, going straight to the closet. Inside he found floor to ceiling towers of papers and books. He sighed. Wizards, he thought, considering what summoning spell he should use.

His first attempt gave him a treatise on binding potions, for use in construction work. The tower it flew from wobbled perilously, but stayed up.

'Right,' Harry said, rewording his spell and trying again.


	3. The Marking

Latin spells provided by google translate.

PS: My apologies for the sonnet. I'm a bit of a Shakespeare nerd. I love being inspired by the sonnets, so it was inevitable I would use them more directly in one of my fanfics. They can be skipped. If you would like to read them, but have trouble with the Shakespearean wording (which everyone has at first!) I highly recommend No Fear Shakespeare by SparkNotes. God, if I had had this resource when I was at school my life would have been so much easier!

-:-

Chapter Three: The Marking

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,

As to behold desert a beggar born,

And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,

And purest faith unhappily forsworn,

And gilded honor shamefully misplaced,

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,

And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,

And strength by limping sway disablèd,

And art made tongue-tied by authority,

And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,

And simple truth miscalled simplicity,

And captive good attending captain ill.

Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,

Save that to die, I leave my love alone.

Sonnet #66

There was a knock on the door. No, a pounding, only the long distance made it faint. It echoed through the rooms and reached Draco Malfoy in the inner study. He was lying on a dusty divan in front of an empty fireplace, using his cloak as a blanket. There were several bottles of firewhiskey underneath, but he had not drunk of them for days. The potion bottles were the more worrisome.

The room around him was deteriorating. The preservation charms on the bookshelves had failed and not been replaced. The large desk with carved snakes framing every corner was covered in papers, covered in dust. Beyond the study the rest of the house had been closed up long ago, and it had not been opened up at Draco's arrival. The furniture was covered by sheets, the chandeliers as well, but the charms against the sun had failed, the portraits were starting to fear bleaching.

Outside was another world, alive and so bright it would hurt Draco's eyes to look. The garden had overgrown, nature bursting its once well-trimmed demarcations. The path was still visible, winding its way to the edge of the cliff, and then down a stone-carved stair to the Mediterranean, which lay warm and blinking up at the house.

Inside the curtains were drawn, and Draco slept. The two house-elves still in the Malfoy family's employ were pulling their ears in the kitchen – which was spotless of course. Every four hours or so they would try again to get Draco to eat something. Occasionally, he acquiesced, but most often he simply grunted and turned slowly in his sleep.

This house he could stay in till the end. Malfoy Manor had been reduced to gravel, but this place had not housed evil. A few happy summers only.

The knock – the pounding – came again, agitated, desperate. A house-elf popped into the study, wringing its ears.

'Please, Master Malfoy, Sir, should Tilly get the door?' it squeaked.

'No,' Draco grumbled.

'Please, Sir,' the elf persisted. 'The baby cries so badly.'

'Baby?' Draco opened his eyes. 'What baby?'

XXX

_I was led to the study, where He waited. I was very nervous, but showed no fear. He asked Malfoy to leave us alone, which surprised me. I had assumed there would be witnesses. It was the first time we were alone together. He is unlike any man I have ever heard of. He smiled very kindly at me, which I appreciated but thought unnecessary. He explained in detail what his desires and plans were. It will be the biggest political upheaval since the days of Merlin. No other man could do it, that much I do know. I have gone over his doctrine before and so will not touch on it here. _

_He asked if I was ready to pledge myself to his cause. If I wished to be part of the great undertaking that lay before us. I answered that I wished for nothing save to serve him, that he was the greatest wizard I knew. He said he did not want servants, but allies. He warned the Ministry might use force against us. I continued to answer in the affirmative. He accepted by allegiance. _

_He asked me to extend my right arm and pull up my sleeve. He placed the tip of his wand against my skin. He whispered I spell, which I believe went as follows: _

_Auctoro probare_

_I understood it meant I should demonstrate my willingness to serve him. I have never heard of such a spell, but it does not surprise me that he is capable of creating a new spell. There were some doubts as to the exact wording, but at the time I had no time to consider them. _

_'Do you give your magic and power, freely and willingly, and add your might to mine?' _

_'I do.' _

_'Do you bind yourself, and promise to come when I call upon you?'_

_'I do.' _

_'Good.' _

_He gave a smile then, and said the closing spell. _

_Auctoro servus _

_I felt a pain shoot into my arm, and I fell to my knees, but He held my arm in a grip so tight I thought he might rip it off me. I had my eyes closed in pain, and I think I might have been screaming. The next moment everything went black, but it must have only been for a few seconds because when I opened my eyes I was still on my knees, and my arm was free. On the forearm had appeared his Mark, as Malfoy had showed me. It is a beautiful, if slightly disturbing design. Of more concern to me was the fact that I felt very drained, as though he had sucked several years of my life away. _

_'You feel a bit faint,' he said, taking my arm and hauling me to my feet. 'That is normal. Go home and rest and you will feel much better tomorrow.' _

_'Yes,' I managed to mumble. As I left he turned me towards him and said 'I am very pleased to have you among us. I know you will do us proud, Severus.' _

_I should have felt elated, but I was too tired. In fact I was tired the morning after, and my spellwork felt off for days. I fear if I were to do research into spells of this kind, I might find something I would rather not know. It is too late now. It is done. _

_But I must know what, exactly, has been done. _

_Severus Snape. _

Harry felt a bit short of breath after reading the account. It was one thing to see Severus do the right thing, but another to understand why he had ever been on the wrong side in the first place. It seemed so simple, the way he described it. Just a bunch of kids, really, becoming enamored by a charming older man who promised change and a chance to write themselves into the history books.

'Harry? You in here?' Ron sounded like he'd rather enter a viper's nest. His voice startled Harry so much several papers flew off the desk.

'I'm here,' Harry said, waving over the stacks of papers in front of him. 'Much good has it done me.'

'You didn't find anything?' Ron eyed the jars and dried out ingredients on the shelves.

'I found an account of the Vow, but no research. The account itself might be useful, though. It has the original spell.'

'Why don't you let Hermione have a look. You know she's better at this.'

'I just...'

'Mate, you need a break, come on.'

'I need to interview Draco again, anyway. I'll drop by and give Hermione what I've found.'

He didn't like the look Ron was giving him as they left Hogwarts. He could guess why his friend was concerned, but he didn't know why this case was affecting him so much – well, he knew part of it. Self-analysis wasn't really his strong suit. Best to leave introspections for his off day, the next of which would be three weeks from now, when Draco was home safe.

Hermione was very interested in Severus' account. All three of them decided to visit Draco right away to question him.

When they opened the door, Harry couldn't help but smile bemusedly. Draco was reclining, propped up in bed half asleep, while Scorpius sat cross-legged at the end of it, head bent over a book as he read.

He looked up when they entered, then glanced quickly to his father, checking if he was awake.

'Mark our spot, Scorpius,' Draco said. Harry didn't like how tired he sounded in the middle of the day.

'What are you reading?' Hermione asked Scorpius, who for some reason bit his lip and looked to Draco as if it was a secret. Draco smiled, and then Scorpius let out a tiny giggle. Harry exchanged a surprised glance with Ron.

'The Witches, by Roald Dahl,' Draco answered. Harry might have heard the name once, but anything else was gone from his mind. Ron had clearly never heard of it, but Hermione's mouth dropped open a bit.

'You're reading a book about evil witches to your son?' she asked, slightly appalled.

'I'm sure they're just misunderstood,' Draco said. Scorpius did not manage to hide his snort.

'Malfoy, you can't be serious. Wait, you're not reading it to him to-' she stopped her said, making a half-hearted gesture. 'You know.'

'I don't know, but I fear I might be able to guess, so no, I am not teaching my son about evil muggles through their misrepresentations of us in _fiction.' _The last was emphasized with some of his old snotty self, and Harry smiled, while Hermione blushed slightly at having yet again prejudged Draco since their reunion.

'It's just fun,' Scorpius said. 'I love all of Roald Dahl's books, especially the one about the chocolate factory. Father says there's a shop in Hogsmeade that's almost like a Willy Wonka shop, only better cause it's magical. Have you been there?' Scorpius looked at each of them with hopeful eyes.

'Honeydukes?' Ron asked. 'Yeah, they're the best.'

'And the joke shop? The one in Diagon Alley? Father says we can go there when I turn ten.'

'That's enough, Scorpius,' Draco cut in. 'I'm sure Potter and Company have something to tell us, otherwise they wouldn't have visited.'

'You mean Zonko's? That's closed down,' Ron answered, ignoring Draco.

'No, it's called Weasel or something-' Scorpius scrunched up his face to try and remember.

'You've been to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?' Ron asked Draco.

'I'm not confessing to anything while not under oath.'

'He gets all my birthday presents from there,' Scorpius said proudly. Draco closed his eyes and hung his head.

'I've already told you,' Hermione said. 'We are not going to turn your in to the Ministry for owning a few magical artifacts.'

'Oh, ops,' Scorpius said. 'Sorry, Father.'

'Yes, thank you,' Draco told Hermione stiffly. 'Now, if we could get back to whatever it is you wanted?'

'Yes, perhaps Scorpius could wait outside?' Hermione said.

'I'll take him,' Ron said, before producing something from his pocket. 'See here, it's a Weasley Wizard Spinning Top, want to see it fly down the hallway?'

'Yes! Can I try?'

Ron nodded and Scorpius hopped off the bed and flew after him out the door before Draco could protest. He stared, mouth agape after them a moment, before composing himself. Harry couldn't help but think that fatherhood looked a lot better on Draco than anything else ever had.

'I think it's very brave of you to keep the wizarding world in your son's life, considering how-'

'Yes, thank you again, Granger,' Draco cut in. Then he sighed. 'Thank you,' he said, calmer.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to pry-'

'If one more person says sorry or thank you, I might start thinking I'm loosing my mind,' Harry said, speaking for the first time, going for light-hearted, but ending up sounding a bit awkward.

'Agreed,' Draco said, just a shudder, or perhaps a spasm, Harry wasn't sure if he wasn't trying to hide the amount of pain he was in.

'Right, we have found Snape's first-hand account of when he took the vow. Could you read it and tell us how it differed from your own marking?' Hermione handed over the scroll and Draco read it with a grim face.

XXX

Draco sat cross-legged on his bed, wringing his hands. He tried to keep calm, to just make his mind go blank, but the thought that soon he would have to look into those eyes and say "Yes" made it impossible.

He wanted to cry. He could feel the acid burn at the back of his throat, but he couldn't let it out. He didn't think he would ever let himself cry ever again.

He knew with a certainty that was oddly calming that he would not live to old age. It was like a bubbling cauldron in the pit of his stomach. Just simmering really, but he knew it would bubble over at any moment. To know that whatever happened, it would not last forever, that was the only comfort he had.

He wished he could do something, anything, to make time stop, however. He kept replaying Severus' first speech to him during first year. 'Put a stopper on death.' Oh, that it had been time instead. What twaddle, but his young mind had been in awe. It was a deserved irony that he had longed to be grown as child, and now wished all his childish things were real.

The door opened with a creek, far more slowly than it usually opened. Lucius appeared, tired and pale as he always was these days. There was no pride in his eyes as he said 'It is time.'

Draco thought his legs might have fallen asleep from sitting crossed so long, but he stood without trouble. His legs seemed to cross the room without him. Lucius put a hand on his shoulder and steered him down the hallway, as if afraid he might make a run for it.

At the bottom of the stairs a young boy stood, looking half dead. A young man, no more than forty, stood behind him with a proud smirk on his lips. Draco knew him – one of father's business partners – but had never met the boy. He went to Beauxbatons. The Northwodes had sworn off Hogwarts during the fifteenth century.

They were both led to the study. Lucius opened the door wide. The Dark Lord's back was to them, and he was staring into the fireplace. Draco had never seen him so quiet. It was almost more unnerving than when he was screaming and torturing.

'The Northwode boy first,' he hissed softly. The boy stepped forward, and the door was shut. Draco knew there were spells on the door to prevent eavesdroppers, but he could have sworn he heard screaming. After no more than five minutes the door opened again. Northwode was on his knees, clutching his arm and whimpering. The Dark Lord was again turned towards the fireplace. Draco could see his shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths.

'Malfoy now,' he hissed.

The elder Northwode stepped forward and helped his son to his feet, but the boy was almost dead on them. He was half-carried out. As he passed Draco their eyes met, and he saw such terror in them his heart jumped into his throat.

Lucius had to give him a push before he realised he had to enter the room. The door was closed behind him. The Dark Lord breathed in deeply, then turned. Draco had to drop his gaze the second those red eyes hit him. He felt the usual prickling along his neck. His palms were sweating.

'At last, young Malfoy,' the Dark Lord hissed. 'You are deemed worthy to formally pledge yourself to me.'

Draco wasn't sure what to say, and was scared to death of saying the wrong thing, so he kept absolutely still.

'This is a very proud day for your father. To see you follow you in his footsteps.'

"I follow him only to share his grave," Draco thought, regretting it immediately and Occluding his mind fiercely.

'Yes, My Lord,' he managed to say.

'Hold out your arm.'

Draco's arm was shaking quite badly, but the Dark Lord did not seem to care. He drew his wand and placed the tip on Draco's forearm, right where the Mark would appear. It occurred to Draco this was the last time he would look at his arm untainted, and so he almost vainly drank in the sight of his unblemished skin.

'Auctoro probare,' the Dark Lord intoned. A flow of magic entered Draco's arm. He felt it coiling around his every nerve. It wasn't painful, it just was. His breathing sped up.

'Do you give your magic and power to me, freely and willingly, now and forever?'

'Y-yes.'

The mistake did not anger the Dark Lord. He merely corrected him. 'You must say I do.'

'I do.'

The Dark Lord then raised his own arm, thin and white. There was a Mark upon him as well. Draco had not known the Dark Lord had his own. It wasn't the same, he realised distantly. There was no skull, only a snake. It sprang to life suddenly, circling round the small space of the Lord's arm, as if ready to strike.

'Do you accept this binding upon you, and accept its terms?'

'I do.'

'Auctoro medeis.'

The snake struck, springing from the Dark Lord's arm straight across to Draco's.

Every nerve the Dark Lord's magic had ensnared suddenly caught fire with pain. Draco cried out, falling to his knees, but his forearm was as welded to the tip of the Dark Lord's wand. It burned so harshly he was sure his skin would sizzle. He must have closed his eyes or blacked out, for he could never recall actually seeing the Mark appear.

When the pain stopped he felt as though his bones were twice as heavy. He swayed, but had the sense to look down at his arm. The Mark glistened back at him, the snake finding its home inside the skull, making his stomach turn at the sight.

He heard the door open, and then Lucius was lifting him up. He knew he was walking somewhere. Up the stairs. The arm in front of him didn't feel like his arm anymore.

'You'll feel tired for a few days at least,' Lucius said. 'It will pass.'

'No, it won't,' Draco whispered. Lucius left him in his room, where he passed out.

XXX

'There are a few distinct differences,' Draco said stiffly when he had finished reading Severus' account. 'The spell wording, for one. The first incantation is the same, but the second replaced servus with medeis.'

'Slave with magic,' Hermione whispered, frowning heavily.

'The pledge is slightly different. I can write it down for you. Then there is the Mark itself. It did not simply appear on my arm.' This caused both of them to furrow their brows. Draco had to close his eyes a moment in case he accidentally looked down at the snake and found it moving. It hadn't moved since the last time the Dark Lord had summoned them, but he would often have terrible dreams about it and the marking. Sometimes he would simply be standing in the kitchen doing the dishes and he would jump ten feet in the air because he thought he saw it move out of the corner of his eye.

'Can you tell us how?' Harry asked softly. Draco opened his eyes, realising he must have been silent for a while. He shifted in his seat, feeling his palms starting to sweat. There was a reason no one spoke about the marking. No witnesses.

'It was on the Dark Lord's arm first,' Draco said. 'It jumped to mine. Then the skull appeared, though I didn't see that.'

'Why didn't you see it?' Potter asked.

'I was a bit busy howling in pain,' Draco said.

'It jumped?' Granger sounded horrified at the idea. Potter looked a bit green. Draco's arm lay dead at his side. He would not look. He would not look. But it was right there, bared to the world. He could tell they were trying their hardest not to look.

Eight years he had spent trying to get out of the grave he'd made for himself. It was all coming undone.

'Is there any chance of seeing the memory-'

'No,' Draco gasped. The thought of focusing on the memory to the point of being able to extract it was unbearable. The thought of others seeing it as vividly as he recalled it, was doubly so.

'No one else has let us either.'

'I'm hardly surprised,' Draco spat. He couldn't look Potter in the eye, knowing the Hero was probably disappointed. Well, Draco wasn't going to be a Gryffindor about that.

'We understand,' Potter said. 'It's difficult. If you change your mind, let us know.'

'So, it jumped from his arm to yours at the second incantation?' Granger asked for clarification. Draco nodded.

'And then your felt pain?'

'The magic burned into my nerves,' Draco said. 'I must have blacked out for a second. Then Father was leading me back to my room.'

'Did you feel tired, like Snape?'

'Yes, just as he described. I don't think...' Draco closed his eyes again. It was like his arm was itching, like the snake was slithering all over it. He would not look! 'I don't think I've ever felt quite the same again.'

'How do you mean?'

'I don't know. It's probably just a mental thing. It's just always-' There. It was always right there. His eyes blinked open for just a fraction of a second, completely involuntary. It was enough for all his old terror to come back full force. He pressed his hand over the Mark, whimpering, biting his lip hard to keep from screaming. It was under his hand, squirming. He pulled at the skin, twisting it, then rubbing and scratching at it.

'Draco, here, drink.' Granger pushed his shoulder firmly back into the bed. He grabbed the potion and swallowed, closing his eyes and gulping it down. He discarded the bottle and just lay breathing. The calming potion worked quickly, but he knew it wouldn't last long with his level of resistance. He hadn't taken a calming potion in years. It felt like a defeat.

'Shit,' he said. He felt tears slipping out, but feared it would draw more attention to them if he wiped at them, so he kept completely still. 'Sorry about that. I sometimes- well, not for a long time, actually.'

'It's OK, Draco, we shouldn't have pushed,' Granger soothed. She had a rather good healer voice, he thought. 'I'm so sorry.' He ignored that.

'I should probably not have drunk that calming draught,' he confessed, because if he didn't tell her straight away he might not, and that would be very, very stupid of him.

'You needed it,' Granger said. Draco feared she might pat him or something.

'No- Yes, but I usually stick to pure doxy ginseng these days,' he said. 'It's effects are less... cumulative.'

'Oh, OH,' Granger finally got it. 'Right, well, I'll note that in your chart.'

'We should let your rest now.'

'Get Scorpius,' Draco said, suddenly burning with a desire to have him close. Potter said he would right away and hurried outside. Granger suddenly stepped closer.

'That was a very brave thing to do, to tell me of your addiction.'

'I know what would happen if I didn't,' Draco said. He would never like the word brave, but he couldn't find it in himself to insult her for expressing her opinion.

Scorpius came running into the room, but stopped short at the sight of Draco. He tried to sit up a bit, tried to not look quite so wretched, but in the end he gave up and just held out his arms. Scorpius hurled himself up on the bed and into Draco's arm. He squeezed him tight.

'Are you OK?' Scorpius asked, peaking up at him. 'Did they do something to you?'

'No, just bad memories. Nothing to worry about. I took a calming draught. I'll be fine in a little bit.'

'We'll leave you, try and get some rest,' Granger said.

Weasley was at the door, looking like he wanted an explanation. Draco wondered how the two would word what had happened. He tried not to think about the three of them discussing him. He held Scorpius tight and scooted a bit down so they could lie comfortably.

'I love you, Father,' Scorpius whispered.

'I love you,' Draco told him, squeezing a bit for emphasis. Scorpius sounded afraid, and Draco hated that. For the first time he thought about what would happen if three weeks really wasn't enough. Who would take care of his little boy?


	4. The Hidden

'Healer Weasley?'

Hermione looked up from Snape's scrolls, which were filling up half her office. The young healer looked very worried, so she got up immediately.

'What's happened?'

'It's Malfoy, Madam,' he said. 'He's saying he needs to leave or...' They spoke while they walked down the hall to Malfoy's room.

'Or?'

'Or get a… a tellyphone?'

'What?' She frowned and told the healer she would handle it. Hurrying to Draco's room, she knocked before entering. Malfoy was sitting up, but looked very tired. Scorpius was in the chair, reading silently. He looked up when Hermione entered, a sullen frown on his face.

'Malfoy, good morning,' she greeted. 'I'm told you need to call someone?'

'Yes, I need to contact my workplace to inform them I won't be coming in tomorrow. And I need someone to watch Scorpius-'

'I'm not leaving,' Scorpius whined.

'You can not stay in the hospital,' Draco said, his voice harder than Hermione had ever heard him with Scorpius. 'You have school tomorrow.'

'I'm not going!'

'It might be weeks before I'm better, you are going,' Draco informed him. 'Please, Healer Weasley, I need to either leave for a short time to make arrangements, or I need some sort of phone.'

'We have a waiting room where telephones work, you can call from there.'

'You do?' Draco blinked.

'It's only just been installed, though I don't think anyone has actually tested it. It took me three years of nagging so muggle parents wouldn't have to leave the hospital to make calls.'

'Then I will test it now,' Draco made to get up. Scorpius shot out of his chair, standing nervously to the side as Draco slowly got out of bed. He was wearing hospital pyjamas, so Hermione summoned a hospital dressing robe to go over, and some slippers. Scorpius followed them out with a pout.

As she led them to the waiting room, she simply had to ask.

'Where is it you work?'

Draco bit his lip, whether to keep from speaking or due to pain. He coughed slightly, and then mumbled. 'What was that?' Hermione felt bad for pressing. Perhaps Draco had some job he considered lowly. But why would he need it? He still had the Malfoy fortune as far as anyone knew.

'I work for the Canterbury Archaeological Trust,' he said more clearly.

'What?'

They had arrived at the waiting room and she could feel the magical dampening field as they entered.

'You...' Hermione blinked several times as she watched Draco go to the very old telephone placed on a table in the corner, with a chair next to it. He sat down and started dialing - or rotating, as it were. 'The Canterbury Archaeological Trust?'

'You heard correctly,' he said. Scorpius had crossed his arms, his pout now even worse. Draco ignored him.

'You work-' Hermione shook herself, feeling a tad silly. 'What is it you do for them?'

'Quite a lot, which is why I must make a few calls,' he said pointedly.

'Of course, I'll leave you to it.' She wondered how on earth Draco Malfoy ended up in such a high-level muggle occupation. Then again he might be the secretary for all she knew. It did not make sense, though. The Magical World had no tradition of archaeology. They had historians a plenty, though mostly were unfortunately as popular as Professor Binns. Family histories was the only really important field. She had to admit, she didn't know much about archaeology at all. As she had gotten older, she had often lamented how she simply did not have the time or energy to keep up with the muggle world. It made her feel very odd to have Draco Malfoy know more.

'Grang- Healer Weasley?' Malfoy called just as she was about to leave. 'I hate to ask, but I need someone to escort Scorpius to the outside to meet Mr. Keller. I'm sure he'll agree to come up and fetch him sometime this evening.'

'I'm working late, so I can do it,' Hermione said.

'Thank you.' She nodded and left him.

It was perhaps ten to fifteen minutes later, when she had almost forgotten about the calls at all, that she happened to be walking down the corridor past the waiting room. Scorpius was sitting outside, leaning up against the wall, reading. She was about to ask what was taking Draco so long when she heard a raised voice.

'You can't let them do this Richard,' Draco was saying. 'You have to get them to extend the date. I just need a little more time. I'm in the hospital for pete's sake!'

There was a long silence while Draco listened to the answer.

'I know that, I'm not saying that,' he said, sounding as if he was barely holding in his anger. 'I've saved your arse before, you owe me! If it wasn't for me there would be a shopping centre on the east side right now.' Hermione and Scorpius shared a look.

'He wants to stop them building,' he said quietly. 'Cause there's a magical site there, but they don't know that, so he has to trick them a bit.'

'A magical site?' Hermione frowned. She glanced inside the waiting room. Draco had the phone pressed hard to his ear while he massaged his forehead, head down.

'If you think I'm not going to call everyone I know, pull in every favour-' 'Yes, this is that important... yes, that's all I am asking! Well, you do that, and I'll do what I can-... Fine. Goodbye.' He hung up forcefully, then looked up.

'Sorry!' Hermione said. 'I heard you yelling and- I'm sorry.'

'It's fine,' Draco sighed. 'It's hopeless anyway. Bureaucracy is a two-edged sword. Impossible to get things done in a timely manner, yet unstoppable once the paperwork has been signed.' He gave a mirthless chuckle. 'In that we are exactly alike, muggle and wizards.'

'What is it you are trying to save?' She stepped tentatively into the room when Draco didn't tell her to sod off.

'It's an old druid site,' Draco said. 'It probably pre-dates Merlin.'

'You mean where they did their magic, like Stone Hedge?'

'Exactly, only nothing of consequence was ever built there, so when we started using wands and imbuing artefacts with magic, this place fell out of memory.'

'How many places like this are there?'

'No one knows,' Draco said. 'Most have probably been forgotten, but those that weren't are usually built upon, like Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, even the Ministry. Everywhere magical society gathers, you can bet your galleons there was once a druid site. But this is the first one, that I know of, that's been rediscovered. And these ignorant twats are about to grant building permission to a housing development. It'll be gone forever in less than a year.'

'But this is incredible,' Hermione said. 'Have you alerted the Ministry? Surely they could do something?'

'Half my job is reporting to the Ministry, feels like,' Draco said. He looked so tired suddenly, like he was greying at the edges before his time. 'I've sent them dozens of requests and rapports, but they don't care. Archaeology isn't something they're familiar with, or history for that matter, except family histories of course. Poor Professor Binns,' Draco smiled sadly, 'I feel sorry I never paid any attention to him.'

'This is awful,' Hermione said. 'I wish there was something I could do.'

'There isn't, but thanks for caring. You're the first,' he said. He winced, grasping his forearm.

'You need more pain potions,' Hermione said. 'I know you want to call in favours, but as your healer I can't in good conscience let you sit here and make calls all day. You need to come back to bed and rest.'

'Richard said he'd give it a go, so I'll come peacefully.' He started to rise, only to fall back down into the chair with a wince. Hermione hurried to his side and helped him stand. 'I feel like an old man,' he whispered. Scorpius hovered by the door, worry all over him, but Draco didn't have the strength to even pretend he could make it on his own. He fell asleep almost immediately.

'I should get back to work.' Hermione looked to Scorpius. 'We are all working round the clock to find a cure.'

'I know. Father said you're the smartest witch of your generation.' Hermione felt a blush at the overused compliment coming from Malfoy of all people. Hopefully, he had only said it to instil faith in Scorpius.

'I don't know about that, but I will do my very best.'

' I know - Mr. Keller said he'd be in the city at seven tonight.'

'Then we will meet him outside.'

'Please, I can't leave,' he looked pleadingly up at Hermione.

'I'm sorry, but if your father wants you to go, then I think you should respect his wishes, yes?'

'Yes, Ma'm.' He went and sat by the bed, holding Draco's hand. Hermione had to leave, going straight back to her office and burying herself in Snape's notes.

XXX

'I say we have a pattern,' Ron declared. 'If we are going to have any chance of saving Malfoy, we need to go with this.'

'Agreed,' Harry said, though he did not sound sure.

'All those old Death Eaters in Azkaban and not one confirmed case among first wave recruits. It has to mean something.'

'Yes, you're right. We need to focus on what changed between Snape's initiation and Malfoy's. I need to go talk to him again.' Harry rose, grabbing his robe from the hook. The Auror officers were full of people going about their own cases, but they all glanced up as Harry and Ron hurried down the main passageway between the desks. Some of them whispered, and Harry didn't need to hear the words to know what they were gossiping about. Why was The Boy Who Lived trying to save a bunch of Death Eaters?

Most days Harry could ignore them, but on others their ignorance cut deep. Ron made sure to stare down any who attempted to judge openly with their looks of disgust.

They heard commotion long before the lift had reached the Atrium. The doors opened to reveal a crowd filling half the Atrium centred around someone or thing near the statues. They were yelling angrily, pushing and jostling each other for a better look. Several Aurors were trying to get in to break it up, but they were reluctant to use their wands.

'What the bloody hell is going on?' Ron asked.

Harry drew his wand, giving it a grand wave and shot out a big red fireball. It shot up into the air, catching several people's attention. Once it reached the dome high above, it exploded like a firework. Everyone had his attention now, but several were now trying to run off. Harry put the wand to his throat and when he spoke his voice echoed round the chamber.

'Stop!' It worked like a freezing charm. Everyone turned their eyes to him. 'You lot, back off, let us through!' The people shuffled away until there was space enough for them to walk to the centre of the commotion.

What they found was a wizard on his knees, bent almost double in pain. His face was obscured by his long brown hair, but Harry recognised him all the same. He was Gilfoyle Juhlin, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. What he was not was a known Death Eater.

The people had cleared a circle of space around him, as if he held some disease they feared getting too close to.

Harry let Ron keep the people in check while he knelt by Gilfoyle.

'Mr. Undersecretary,' he said softly. He could see the man's shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths. He wondered if the crowd had hit him with any curses. 'Are you in pain?'

The man shuddered, took a deep breath, and slowly extended his arm. The Dark Mark was red and angry, and Harry could guess he had been in pain, and hiding it, for quite some time.

'We'll take you to St. Mungo's,' Harry said. 'Do you have any other injuries?'

The man raised his head just enough to meet Harry's eye through his hair. He was perhaps just under thirty years of age, with the sharp features many purebloods tended to have, but he had never seemed arrogant. He had always been a hard working type. A younger son, eager to prove himself. It wasn't until now Harry realised just how eager, and misguided. His eyes were haunted, dark and devoid of hope.

'This is my punishment,' he whispered, voice hoarse.

'No, this is just one last curse from Voldemort, but we are doing everything we can to help. We will stop this.'

'I deserve this.'

'No. No one deserves this. Please, come with me.'

Harry rose and reached out a hand. Gilfoyle hesitated. The crowd murmured.

'Death Eater scum!' someone yelled.

'Why are you helping them? We'll all be better off!'

'He's a lying bastard!' This comment got cheers of agreement. 'He should be arrested!'

'Who else is one?'

'What about the Minister? Did he know?'

'Let them all rot in Azkaban!'

'Shut it or we'll start arresting people for disturbing the peace and harassment,' Ron spat. 'Go on you lot, disperse! DIS-PERSE!' People finally started moving away.

Gilfoyle finally took Harry's hand, and they got him to St. Mungo's without incident, though their arrival created a lot of noise. People gossiping like mad, even a few healers following them, trying to confirm the diagnosis. Harry left Ron and Hermione to deal with Gilfoyle and told the mod to disperse, which they were professional enough to do quicker than the Ministry's employees.

He needed to see Draco. He knew he wasn't going to ask for the memory again so soon, but he just had to check up on him.

He knocked and heard Scorpius answer 'Come in.' Draco was sitting up in bed, pale as a ghost, but Harry thought he saw a smile of greeting. 'Potter,' he managed. Scorpius had been reading to him. 'We heard some commotion outside. Everything all right?'

'Not really,' Harry said. He came to stand at the foot of the bed. Draco's eyes were sunken, his forehead clammy and his hands were shaking. He would be incoherent soon, once the pain grew too strong for the potions to handle. 'Gilfoyle Juhlin, uh, he's the Undersecretary...'

'Yes, I am aware,' Draco cut in. 'I do keep abreast of wizarding politics. What about him?' Draco must have read something in Harry's eyes, for his own widened. 'He's not- Impossible!'

'I saw the Mark myself. He collapsed from the pain in the middle of the Atrium.'

'Dear Merlin,' Draco breathed. He stared off into space. 'I never knew.'

'No one did, which worries me.'

'If it worries you, no doubt it worries others far more. Does the Minister know?'

'I haven't spoken to him.'

Draco gave him a look like the ones he used to give him in school, the ones that spelled out "dunderhead" in no uncertain terms. Draco coughed. 'I suggest you brace yourself.'

Before Harry could ask what he meant, Scorpius spoke up about the time. Draco asked where Hermione was, but once they explained the issue Harry gladly volunteered to escort Scorpius to Mr. Keller. He also found himself volunteering to bring Scorpius for a visit after school tomorrow.

Draco's soft 'thank you' did not warm Harry as he had thought it would. It was full of acceptance, and defeat. Harry never did like anything that tasted of defeat.

As they walked together Scorpius was too silent for a ten year old. Harry was good with children, usually. He had a lot of experience with nieces and nephews, but this situation was beyond him.

Scorpius looked up at him when they reached the outside.

'Father told me how you saved everyone,' he said.

'I had a lot of help.'

'But you saved everyone, even people like my dad who made mistakes.'

'Yes, of course,' Harry said, kneeling down to look at the boy properly. 'Your father was put in a very unfair position when he was too young to understand the consequences. He didn't deserve the Mark then, and he doesn't deserve what's happening to him now. I'll do everything I can to save him, I promise.'

'I know. Dad said you're a goody Gryffindor. You have to win or else the universe doesn't work.' By the way Scorpius was smiling, Harry knew the boy was stronger than he looked, putting on a brave face.

'Did he, really? Well, Slytherins like your Father always have to be right, or nothing works properly, so I guess I'll just have to listen to him.'

'Good.' There was a honking noise and Scorpius recognised Mr. Keller's car.

XXX

Harry found Ron in the lobby once he got back from delivering Scopius to the muggle.

'Mate, we've got to go. The Minister wants to see you. He firecalled Hermione's office directly.'

'That doesn't sound good,' Harry said as they made their way to the floo. 'How is Gilfoyle?'

'Bad,' Ron said. 'Hermione says it's a miracle he kept functioning for as long as he did.' They floo'ed to the Ministry, and were greeted by gossip and suspicious glances. Around the entrance a crowd of reporters were gathered, but Harry was well experienced with them, and pushed through to the lifts quickly, ignoring all questions. They made their way to the floor of the Minister, which was filled with tense, uncertain people, as if they had all forgotten how to do their jobs.

They knocked on the Minister's door, and were invited in by a snappish 'Enter!'

Shacklebolt had a storm over his head, and several secretaries flew out of the office when the door opened.

'Potter, in, Weasley, leave us.' Ron wasted no time in backtracking out of the office, the traitor, Harry thought.

Shacklebolt stood tall and thunderous.

'Sit,' he said. Harry did as asked, and Shacklebolt made an effort to calm himself as he did the same. 'This is a disaster.'

'Undersecretary Juhlin wasn't even rumoured to have been in the war,' Harry recalled.

'I know, one of the reasons I appointed him,' Shacklebolt snapped. 'The press are having a field day. My opponents are calling for my resignation.'

'That's bullshit, no one knew, and besides, he hasn't even been charged with anything. Having the Mark is not, in itself, illegal.'

'I know that,' Shacklebolt said. 'They know that, and they do not care. Potter...' His face became, if possible, even more grim. 'How many Death Eaters do you have in St. Mungo's?'

'You'd have to ask Healer Weasley,' Harry said, frowning. 'Upwards of twenty, last I checked.' Shacklebolt sighed, shaking his head. 'Gilfoyle is not doing well, if you were wondering.'

'I worked with the man for five years,' Shacklebolt said. 'His betrayal-'

'Betrayal is a harsh word,' Harry said.

'He should have turned himself in at the end of the war!'

Harry ignored the outburst. 'What, exactly, is it you want me to do, Minister?'

'The Wizangamot wants me to do something about all of this.'

'Do something? You mean help them? I have three Aurors, and Hermione's got a handful of healers and nurses. If you want to do something, get help.'

'Harry, tell me honestly, do you think they can be helped?' Shacklebolt asked calmly. Harry felt uneasy, on the verge of feeling sick to his stomach.

'What do you mean?'

'If this is part of the Mark, then maybe there isn't anything we can do, except,' Shacklebolt shrugged his shoulders, 'make them comfortable.'

'You can not be serious.'

'Azkaban won't be releasing any more prisoners into St. Mungo's care. They can have their pain potions there.'

'Don't do this, Kingsley,' Harry begged. 'We can solve this.'

'Harry, you have to understand. People don't want Death Eaters taking resources-'

'I can't listen to this,' Harry rose.

'Auror Potter-'

'Minister, are you taking away my team?'

'No,' Shacklebolt sighed.

'Then let me get back to work saving these people.' Harry left with a storm of his own brewing. After the war, everything had seemed possible. Shacklebolt had come in and reshuffled the Ministry completely, flushing out the pro-purebloods and getting everything back on track. The trials had been hard on everyone, and while some mistakes were made, most of them were fair. Most of them Harry could live with, except Malfoy of course.

He felt the stares following him to the lifts. It was like the last decade hadn't happened. They were relieved, Harry realised. They were looking forward to the Death Eaters dying out, so that the war could die out with them.

When Harry reached his office, he sat down and just breathed, hoping he wouldn't need to empty his stomach.


End file.
